


Yeah, But Can You Prove it?

by pyalgroundblz (acidtonguejenny)



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Autofellatio, M/M, Rimming, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-24
Updated: 2013-05-24
Packaged: 2017-12-12 20:15:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/815578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acidtonguejenny/pseuds/pyalgroundblz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint's pretty flexible.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Yeah, But Can You Prove it?

"Bet that was easier ten years ago."

It was Bruce that made the comment.

 _Easier twenty years ago_ , Clint thought fuzzily, already taken by that old hypnotic spell of rocking and muscle strain, the slick-smoothness of his own cockhead going between his lips and his taste.

It was a skill he learned he had in college. He didn't know if it was appropriate to privately thank his mother for pressing him into that handful of ballroom dancing and after school gymnastic classes, did anyway. Burning, achey aftermath aside--better than a jerk, when he had the time and the will.

He slurped at leaking precome and dug his fingers into his cheeks, his thighs, because it felt good.

How he'd come to have an audience was a different matter entirely, and yes, it did involve alcohol. Not copious amounts, no one was sloppy drunk. Just enough to want to smack himself for volunteering the fact than he was capable (damn good) of autofellatio.

Just enough for someone to dare him to prove it.

Clint pushed one dry finger into his asshole, wiggling it past, wished he'd thought to lube up his fingers first. 

He was too unsteady too look around, but he could picture them watching him, circled like a pack of voyueristic vultures. Tony, eyes bright over his drink. Steve open-mouthed and transfixed, maybe a little incredulous despite living proof. Natasha, settled back and purring like he was putting on this show just for her. Banner--honestly, Clint didn't know the guy well enough to guess. 

Thor. Thor was moving. 

His fingers touched Clint's, wet with spit, and several pressed in.

They were huge. Clint moaned, rocked down harder.

"You appeared to require aid. Forgive me if I am presumptuous, brother."

 _Presume away_ , Clint thought fervently. 

Thor's fingers moved in him like he was spreading something, petting his insides, crooking in different directions. It's odd. It's good. It's complimentary with what he was doing to himself. The toughened pad of one finger pressed against his prostate just as he sipped at his head, like the last bit of soup, creamy pre and tongue flat to his veined underside. It was so good Clint nearly fell over, whining like a bitch. 

Somebody swore.

Oh it's good, it's so good. And then Thor bent, craned. His unbound surfer bro hair tickled Clint's ass and his tongued touched the rim of of his hole, squeezed in around their fingers.

Clint laughed around his dick, through his shuddering moan, because he'd forgotten he still had one of his own fingers in, though pretty much all of it but the tip had pulled out.

He pulled away the last bit, focused on propping himself up and giving Thor more room to be amazing.

Clint's dick was practically a running faucet, precome coating his tongue and pooling in the back of his mouth. He wanted to tell Thor how great he was doing, that he was close. 

Thor pulled his mouth away and smartly bit down on the meatiest part of Clint's ass, fingers working faster. Clint drew on his cock, sucked it like it was an oxygen mask, came with a muffled shot down his throat.

He did fall over. Thor caught him and pulled him into his lap, fingers still flexing inside him, playing his climax like a tune. 

Thor leaned and kissed him deeply. Tongue against his, sliding in the slickness, tasting his issue. Clint gave it to him, extended his tongue. 

Steve cleared his throat. "And that's a wrap."


End file.
